


Adventures of a Fanboy

by Elliott_Fletcher



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Leo is a Dork, Leo is a Fanboy, M/M, Nico is Unimpressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliott_Fletcher/pseuds/Elliott_Fletcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Nico is unimpressed and Leo makes a fool of himself countless times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures of a Fanboy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackcricket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcricket/gifts).



**Leo**

  
     I sit down on the grass, gracelessly falling with my back against a tree and my shoulder pressed into a boy that makes me feel warm all over. He glares, and I wonder if he gets any sleep, but I smile and introduce myself, and we seem to be okay now. 

  
"Valdez, Leo Valdez," I say, suave like James Bond even if I just unceremoniously fell on my ass. He rolls his eyes and yanks a headphone from his ear. 

  
"Di Angelo," he says, and he pulls it off so well that I'm left jealous. "Nico Di Angelo."

  
We're totally besties now.

  
He replaces his headphone and turns back to his book, which I recognize as the fourth chapter of the sixth Harry Potter book—you know, the seventh line in where—well, I don't want to spoil anything for you, but . . . Just know it's good!

  
He probably thinks the conversation is over—which it isn't. I pull my _Naruto_ water bottle from my book bag, bring it to my lips, and chug like a man—choke like a child. Water sputters and spills everywhere, and I think Di Angelo over here is having a heart attack, which really can't be good for your health, buddy, what with the anorexia and insomnia you're sporting—but anyway, I quickly retrieve my laptop from the soaked book bag (I didn't even have that much water in my mouth. Maybe I'm magical. Maybe I'm Percy fucking Jackson when he blew up those toilets—) and wipe it off with my shirt. Di Angelo looks appalled, his face softening into a look of dumbfound that's real cute, man, real fucking cute.

   
I think he just saw my choice in fashion (which is an awesome choice indeed). I leave him with his jaw hanging open, just resisting a wink, and open my laptop. Which I regret, honestly, because I had totally forgotten what I'd changed my desktop screen to (whoops! Leo totally not _en pointe_ at the moment)—well, if I didn't have Di Angelo's attention already, I certainly have it now.

I feel my cheeks flush, and whenever this happens, it feels like my whole body is on fire. I slam my laptop shut and tilt my head back against the bark, soaking in my sweat. I shove my laptop back into the damp book bag and notice how my leg is heating up. Like, legitimately burning up. 

  
"Holy shit!" I mutter, and roll the hem of my capris up. I look at Nico from the corner of my eye and see he has an eyebrow raised, all sardonic and sass, and if he isn't a little Sasuke . . . 

  
"My leg is so hot!" I rub my hands up and down my skin, and only when my hands start to get warm do I realize I'm not helping at all.

   
"What." Nico asks, but doesn't ask, and he's certainly mastered the deadpan. Like, I'm sure interviewers come up to him and ask, ' _Di Angelo, Nico Di Angelo, do the deadpan!'_ And he'd be all like, ' _what._ '

  
"Oh my god!" I say before I realize I'm talking. "I'm not—my leg isn't— _sexy_ hot, even though it is, just like— _warm_?" I ask, and my voice breaks halfway through so I sound pathetic. I don't usually, I swear.   
He shakes his head at me like I'm amazing (which I am—I just didn't think he knew that yet) and pokes my forehead with a fingernail that's surprisingly not painted black. (I say surprisingly 'cause this kid is hella goth, and I know I exaggerate sometimes—most of the time—but I'm being completely honest right now, and there's no way this kid _doesn't_ contact Satan.)

  
My forehead tingles like it ate that Mexican burrito sauce—the one on sale at FreshCo with the annoying jingle. I grin sheepishly, but I've never understood that word much (I don't feel like a sheep, although I don't exactly have a mirror to tell. I feel like Nico would be looking at me a lot weirder if all of a sudden I had a wool coat. I wonder if it'd be like growing a beard—)

  
"Are you always an idiot?" He asks, and I laugh through my nose and nod my head until my neck is sore. "Somehow I'm not surprised." He mutters, and then he curls his knees up into himself and sleeps. Or fake sleeps. I like to think that people only ignore me because their bodies are too weak to handle my awesomeness for extended periods of time. 

  
When I open my laptop again, I cover the screen and my head with my discarded sweater (it's a volcano outside—why mom thought I needed a sweater is beyond me, but she looked stressed so I wasn't about to question her sanity) so I can hide my desktop long enough to change the image. I hold my breath until it's finished loading, and then sigh heavy enough to rustle the tips of my hair.

  
"Idiot," I hear Nico murmur into his arms, and I rest my chin on his shoulder. He shakes me off fast, but I got in a good two moments of contact. Small steps. 

  
"You should call me ' _usuratonkachi_ '!" I say with helpless pronunciation. 

  
Nico lifts his head up, and all his fluffy black hair blows in the breeze like we're in a freaking Pantene commercial. "Why the hell would I call you that?"

  
I giggle and press my hands into my face, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. "'Cause that'd make me Naruto." I whisper, and then I 'cheers' the air with my water bottle, chug, choke (rinse, repeat).


End file.
